


Bottom of the Bargain Bin

by SenkoWakimarin



Series: GUNTP Bonus Material [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mild Pet Play, Riding, Roughhousing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Frank and Wade try something a little different.





	Bottom of the Bargain Bin

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested in "continuity", this is intended to take place between 'Settle Up' and 'Love Inside' -- the last two fics of the Quid Pro Quo series proper. On the calendar, somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas, closer to the former.
> 
> This was requested anonymously on Tumblr. If you have a request, come say hi and leave it in my inbox; my handle there is 'Ifridiot'.

People say a lot of things about Wade. Some of those things are even completely true, but a good number are half-right at best.

He’s easy to brush off as a crazy idiot, and a lot of the time he does seem reckless beyond reason. He fucks up a lot and has a mouth that could drive a saint to murder. He’s impulsively violent and a needy brat even when he’s not looking for blood. 

Still, he’s not stupid, or at least he’s not stupid the way people seem to think. He’s perceptive and willing to moderate his behaviour, which are skills Frank certainly doesn’t have, and when he fucks up he generally does something to try and fix things. He’s an asshole, but not as much of one as popular perception would imply, and still a better guy than a few ‘heroes’ Frank’s worked with.

But that thing about him never shutting up?

Yeah, that particular one is spot on.

“I’m _just_ saying, I think it’s hilarious you’ve got Nate totally convinced that you’re some kind of super bottom,” Wade says, laughing up at Frank. Frank has him pinned to the floor, both of them bruised and a little sweaty. It’s warmer in the apartment with the windows covered in plastic, and Frank’s half hard just from the roughhousing. “I mean, you _are_ adorable when you put on the slutty submissive act for him, but…”

Frank assumes Wade would be gesturing, rather than making faces, if his arms were loose. He tightens his grip on Wade’s wrists and leans forward, crushing him against the floorboards. “Just because I don’t whine 24/7 about wanting something in my ass doesn’t mean I’m acting when I elect to.”

" _Doesn’t it_ , though?" Wade asks, waggling his brows, smug. "Reminder that you have at no time even _questioned_ who would be taking it up his cute little butt when it comes to you and me."

"Why would I question that when you start half your conversations asking if I'll fuck you," Frank retorts, and he can feel his face starting to burn because now he was thinking about it sincerely. Wades's cock, that weird texture and how good it felt in his mouth. How long it had taken him to even consider sucking Wade off, how immediately he'd regretted not having thought of it earlier.

It hadn't been a thing he really considered because Wade was so quick to grab the steering wheel and that's never been where he steered them. "I'm not going to beg for something I don't think is on the table."

Sometimes the way Wade looks at him makes Frank feel stupidly flustered; it's this sincere, steady look, fond and understanding. Like Wade's been trying to figure something out and Frank's just finally given him a key to it. 

"It's always the dumb dogs I wanna keep," Wade sighs, relaxing even as Frank scowls. "Imagine having an ass like yours and thinking anyone would pass up a chance to tap that. Hello, I'm crazy _and_ stupid but my dick is absolutely functional and home to the majority of my brain cells."

"Jesus Christ," Frank grumbles, shifting his weight so he can shut Wade up, kissing the rest of whatever idiot commentary that was building up to away. "If I tell you to fuck me, will you drop the gag and do it?"

Wade makes a vague noise in this throat, tilting his head to the side invitingly, and Frank shifts down to kiss there instead, letting up on Wade's hands so he can pet over his hair. "Awfully bossy. Sounds more like you're trying to win an argument than actually _wanting_ me to do anything."

"Wilson," Frank says, grazing his teeth over uneven skin, making a red mark that fades even as he runs his tongue over it. "If you're too invested in being a bitch to fuck me, just say so."

For a moment, there's no reply, but Frank is pressed too close not to feel the way Wade's warming to the idea already. His own cock is still only a little more that half erect, but Wade's obscenely hard in his tacky basketball shorts, hot against Frank's hip. 

"Power-bottom-y," Wade says finally, hitching up a little to grind their hips together, running the hand that had been clutching at Frank's back down his flank, trying to get a grip on his ass. "You are a man of rare and hidden depths, Mister Castle."

"Quit bein' weird," Frank grumbles, grunting in surprise when Wade flips them neatly. He hears Wade's shoulder hit the couch, the couch sliding a bit over the hardwood. Frank's back doesn't really appreciate the position, flat against the floor with Wilson settled on his hips, but his dick is super into it. 

Wade's grin is sharp, predatory now he's got Frank pinned. His hands are warm on Frank's chest, and Frank's glad they've both already shed their shirts. Wade pinching at his nipples and squeezing the meat of his pecs feels good in a way that leaves a core of hot embarrassment in his gut. "I bet Nate digs that face," Wade says, amused. "It's like you get dick drunk on the _idea_ of getting your backdoor smashed. Very cute."

"I'm starting to think you don't wanna do this at all," Frank snarks back, like Wade's completely missed the mark rather than hit it, with his usual unconscious precision, square on. "Quit laughing at me and fuck me."

"Kinda sad how you never want to be a good boy when it's just you and me," Wade mock pouts, but he's moving, climbing to his feet and walking around the couch into Frank's sleeping space. "I bet if Nate told you he wanted to fuck you, you'd be all 'yessir, please sir, can I cum again sir' but when it's me all I get is growls."

Frank can't see beyond the couch, but he can hear Wade going into the bedside drawer, ostensibly to grab the lube. Frank busies himself getting out of his pants, shoving his jeans out of the way, stroking his dick experimentally, a little surprised how quickly the idea of Wade fucking him was turning him on.

"Okay, stop trying to distract me," Wade says, dropping down onto the couch. Somewhere between the bed and here, he's also stripped the rest of the way, skin on full display. "Quit playing with yourself and come stand here, I got an idea."

It's a little alarming how those words, which objectively coming from this man should probably register as a sort of threat, scan as incredibly arousing. Wade and sex and 'good ideas' was enough mental scaffolding to create some very interesting fantasies all on their own.

On his feet, standing in front of Wade, Wade leans against the back of the couch and licks his lips, eyes crawling over Frank like he's a meal Wade's trying to figure exactly how best to enjoy. 

"Turn around and bend over to lean on the coffee table."

There's something about it that is almost too much, almost going too far, asking him to bend over like that in his own living room. It's so humiliating, and Frank glances helplessly at the door like there's any real concern of them being walked in on, before almost impulsively turning and doing as Wade bade, spreading his legs and bending at the hips to rest his hands on the glass-top coffee table. 

"Good boy," Wade croons, hands immediately on Frank's ass, spreading him open, pressing a thumb against his hole, dry pressure Frank can't help leaning into. He lets his fingers flex against the cool glass, trying not to flinch as Wade feels him up, squeezing his ass and trailing blunt fingers over his balls, fondling him until Frank finally snaps at him to hurry up. 

Whatever smart ass thing Wilson comes up with is completely lost on Frank because while he says it, he’s working a slick finger into Frank’s ass and -- okay. He definitely should have thought about this earlier, because he already knew he liked Wade’s hands and the fact that they’ve been fucking for over a year and never gotten around to this is criminal.

And Wade doesn't fuck around about it, once he starts. He's as enthusiastic and eager with this as he is with their usual arrangement. Frank would have pinned him as the sort to try and get revenge for all the times Frank went too slow or teased, but he doesn't, and that's not too much of a surprise really. Wade acts like everything is a limited time offer that can be rescinded or taken away at any point.

Three of Wade's fingers is not the same as three of Cable's, that's for damn sure, and yet Frank's still struggling to keep his breathing even, toes flexing against the floor as he rocks back into the motion of Wade's hand. Wade's babbling all kinds of filth, half of which is just rambling off curse words and half of which don't make sense, so Frank gives up on trying to track any of it, gritting his teeth until Wade moves just so.

Whatever you would call the noise that eases out of Frank's throat at that -- a whiny sort of moan he will absolutely deny making if asked -- Wade obviously likes it. Under Frank's own panting, he can hear the hitch in Wade's breath, the rhythmic slide of his hand on his own cock. 

"I am a perfectly okay with being proven wrong here," Wade says, endeavoring to repeat the motion that garnered the noise. "You are _absolutely_ the slutty bottom of everyone's dreams. Highly out of character, I'm sure the fanboys will riot."

Between the texture of Wade's skin and the ceaseless flex and twitch of his fingers, Frank is riding an edge of not-enough-but-don't-stop that makes him feel like he's going to claw his way out of his own skin. "For the love'a Christ, how many times do I have to ask you to shut up and fuck me?"

Wade laughs, pulling his fingers out unceremoniously and slapping Frank's thigh. The blow stings a little, leaving a smear of lube, and Frank can hardly believe that something so simple could make him feel so desperate. Cable taking an hour opening him up, getting him so worked up and eager that he can't even beg anymore doesn't leave his head feeling half this empty. It's obscene, really, how easy it is to forget how good at this Wade is.

He climbs into Wade's lap without being told, and that gets him a winning grin. Ugly as hell with a smile that outshines just about anyone's, that's Wade. His confidence in this sort of situation is always pleasant to Frank; it's a different sort of confidence than Cable shows, and in a strange way more impressive -- Wade can't read his mind, Wade has no way of proving to himself that Frank's as into this as he is, but Wade rarely hesitates or flinches from things Frank would be embarrassed to admit or ask without coaxing.

Also, Wade sometimes seems to have at least six hands, touching Frank all over, always eager and yet edging toward worshipful, greedy for the smooth lines of muscle. He helps Frank find a comfortable position and Frank thinks for a second about how bad his thighs and knees and probably lower back are all going to hurt later from this, and then Wade's helping him lower down unto that fantastically weird cock and Frank's brain sort of packs up and heads out on vacation.

The texture -- it's really not like anything Frank's felt before. Wade is extremely warm, all the time, and he's extra warm from their earlier roughhousing, his hands gripping and petting all over Frank. His cock is harder than Frank's used to, and with the scar tissue (or whatever all else makes his skin look the way it does), it's like getting fucked by some weird toy. Except hot, and attached to the eagerly twitching hips of a crazy, unkillable mercenary, and Frank has exactly enough brain power to realize he needs -- absolutely _needs_ \-- to move.

Both of them make an embarrassing noise this time, Frank lifting himself and rocking back down, gripping onto Wade's shoulder with one hand and arching back to rest the other on Wade's thigh. He sets a brisk pace, head angled at the ceiling as he chases the sensation. Wade never shuts up; his babbling turns to wordless noise and then this weird, giggly-eager laugh that Frank's learned to interpret as meaning he's getting exactly what he wants. 

It's good. It's a lot more than Frank had expected -- Wade's dick isn't quite as long or as thick as Cable's, but it's more than enough to get the job done evidently. Combined with the weirdness of something that textured and the familiar visual of Wade losing whatever is left of his mind because of something Frank's doing... yeah, that'll just about do it.

Always considerate, in sex if nowhere else, Wade gets a hand on Frank's cock and starts stroking him in counterpoint to the pace Frank's settled on. 

Neither of them last too terribly long. That's never really the point between them; Cable likes to drag it out, make it last hours if he can get them, leave Frank so exhausted and sated the idea of moving is too slick a concept to grasp. Wade wants to grab hold of the moment and wring it for all it's worth, as much as he can get as quick as he can get it.

It's dizzying. Intense and satisfying and every bit as good as any of the things Cable pulls out of Frank's buried fantasies with the shocking bonus of being wholesale something Frank never entertained the thought of until tonight. When he cums, he feels his whole body tense with it, electric, and is gratified to hear Wade choke on whatever he was saying.

"Pussy like a goddamn _bear trap_ , Jesus fuck," Wade breathes, easing Frank from the steady, fast ride he'd been working to a more tolerable rocking. Wade's cock is still hard inside of him, which is odd because Frank's pretty much positive Wade came with him. 

The extra slickness inside him lends to that conclusion, but here he is, trembling on the edge of over stimulation, with a very hard dick buried inside him.

Wade's hand strokes up and down his side, and just that is like lines of fire on his skin, too much but too good to do anything to stop. "We can stop if you're done," Wade says, way closer to recovered than Frank. "I got one, we're good."

"Shut up," Frank grumbles, rocking experimentally, hissing at the sensation even as his dick gives a fitful twitch. He wants to stay like this, he wants to ride Wade until Wade's as dumb with it as Frank feels, and he doesn't know if he can because this particular form of overexertion is one he hasn't tried before. "I jus' need a minute..." 

“Two for one special,” Wade grins. “I love a slut with a bargain.”

The words twist with degradation, a very specific weird, fluttering sort of humiliation, and Frank thinks he should lash out for that, he should say something, he should be angry. 

He rolls his hips a little more intently and listens to Wade groan instead.


End file.
